


Dead Guy in Room Four

by pennilesspoet



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, F/M, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-08-14 15:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennilesspoet/pseuds/pennilesspoet
Summary: “There’s a dead guy in room 4.”Stevie’s tone is flat, but her eyes radiate panic, a look that Johnny has become all-too-familiar with.“Stevie, do we know how this man expired,” Moira asks.“Same as all the others.”





	1. Prologue: Dead Guy in Room 4

**Author's Note:**

> I recently re-watched the "horror" version of the Schitt's Creek trailer and thought - hey, what if there really was a murderer on the loose! And what if Patrick was actually a fed sent in to investigate! And what if it was more like an episode of "The X-Files"?
> 
> Yikes. Maybe this is a bad idea. Haha.

“There’s a dead guy in room 4.”

Stevie’s tone is flat, but her eyes radiate panic, a look that Johnny has become all-too-familiar with.

“Come in, come in,” Johnny whispers hurriedly, as his eyes scan the copse of trees that line the road that runs in front of the motel.

Moira Rose is sitting upright in bed, her eyes wide and mouth pursed tightly. She has undoubtedly heard the exchange in the doorway. Johnny tries to convey reassurance when he meets her eye, but her jaw just tightens, and she looks at Stevie, who is standing stock still just inside their motel room door.

“Stevie, do we know how this man expired,” Moira asks.

Stevie looks at the floor, her shoulders hunching and her hands deep in her pants pockets.

“Same as all the others.”

~@~

Patrick follows the GPS directions off of the highway exit, and onto the two-lane road leading to his destination. The road is identical to many others in this area; lonely and surrounded by farmland. It brings him a small amount of comfort; he’d grown up in an area like this, before moving east to pursue his career. Right now, he could be anywhere, even headed toward his hometown, nestled in rolling golden hills and vast wheat fields.

The sign on the right side of the road is not typical of the area, however. It is massive, and a bit gaudy, featuring a couple in what can only be described as an overtly sexual position. But it isn’t the sign itself that prompts Patrick to pull off of the road; it’s the graffiti painted over it.

“Welcome to Schitt’s Creek,” the sign reads, “Where everyone fits in.” Painted over the sign, in dripping, dark red spray paint are the words, “Turn back or die.”

“Subtle,” Patrick mutters. He takes a photo of the sign with his government-issued camera, then pulls back onto the road, heading into Schitt’s Creek.

When the case file first landed on his desk, Patrick didn’t fully understand why it wasn’t being handled by local law enforcement. It didn’t seem like an RCMP issue. But the more he read, the more he’s come to understand why this had made it not only to the RCMP but specifically to Patrick. Six people, all drained of blood, all within the confines of this small, rural town. No suspects have been identified, though the local townspeople seem to think they are connected to one particular family, who happen to reside in the very motel where the last murder took place.

At the urging of his GPS, Patrick pulls off of the county road and onto a small, unpaved road that leads him to the motel. The building looks rundown, as most motels do, but relatively clean. As he pulls into the empty lot, he notes the isolation of the property from the surrounding area. An ideal location for a murder. Or is this family being framed?

Patrick turns off the engine and gets out of the car, taking a moment to stretch a bit before making his way to the motel office. The interior matches the exterior in a lot of ways; outdated, and a bit rundown. There are all kinds of objects on the walls and shelves, including some items that Patrick identifies as protective amulets. Patrick takes a mental inventory of these objects as he waits for the pale brunette behind the desk to notice him.

“Oh, hi, sorry,” the woman finally looks up from her book. Given the state of affairs in this town, Patrick finds it a little disconcerting that she isn’t more aware of her surroundings. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like a room,” Patrick smiles warmly as he approaches the desk. The woman turns to her computer and moves the mouse to wake it up.

“Sure, we have plenty of vacancies,” the woman replies, her tone a bit flat and sarcastic, “how many nights?”

“Uh, unclear at the moment, but for now let’s say three,” Patrick says as he pulls out his wallet and ID. He reveals his badge, and the woman straightens a bit, her eyes widening and mouth popping open in surprise.

“RCMP,” the woman arches an eyebrow, “Guess we finally hit the big time.”

“Not something to be particularly proud of,” Patrick smiles softly to take the edge off his reply. The woman -  _ Stevie _ , her nametag reads - types Patrick’s information into her ancient computer, then hands him back his card, ID, and a room key.

“Do you know where I might find the Rose family?” Patrick asks once the transaction is complete.

“Uh, yeah, they are in rooms 6 and 7, but I don’t think anyone is there right now,” Stevie tenses up again, and she studies the top of her desk, “Mr. and Mrs. Rose are usually having lunch at the Cafe at this time of day, and Alexis and David are at work.”

“Right,” Patrick pulls a small notepad out of his back pocket and flips back through a couple of pages of his own handwritten notes, “_Rose Apothecary_. Is that far from here?”

“No, uh, it’s just at the edge of town,” Stevie replies, her eyes still glued to the desk, “across from the cafe.”

“Thanks,” Patrick smiles, and gathers his personal effects and room key. He glances around the room again, his eyes landing on a small white pouch sitting on the desk near Stevie’s arm. “Is that amulet from Rose Apothecary?” he asks.

Stevie looks down at the pouch, then back up at Patrick, her eyes dark. “They’re all from the Apothecary,” she said matter-of-factly.

Patrick flushes, realizing that Stevie had been aware of him from the moment he walked in. He nods silently and turns to leave, making a note to question her further once he talks to the Roses.


	2. Chapter One: Meet the Schitt's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roland and Jocelyn Schitt start to wonder if they should trust the Roses, and Patrick meets David.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments on this weird little idea! I appreciate it.

  
The first death happened about six months after the Rose family arrived in Schitt’s Creek.

The foursome hit the town like a hurricane; smartly (or strangely) dressed, with big-city attitudes and at least one unrecognizable accent. Despite their rather rough arrival, the family had managed to ingratiate themselves to a small segment of the town’s population, including the mayor and his wife.

Roland and Jocelyn Schitt saw a bit of fear and uncertainty hidden beneath the veneer of the family’s impatience and snobbery, so in their own unique way, they made the Rose’s feel welcome in their town. Roland took great pleasure in mocking the family’s patriarch, Johnny Rose, as often as possible, and though Johnny acted put out, Roland knew that (on some level) he appreciated it. Jocelyn took a slightly more subtle approach with Moira, whose flamboyance and brash charm fascinated her. She would convince Moira to join her at events and group outings as a way of breaking the ice with the town’s skeptical residents and even convinced the Jazzagals to give Moira a chance, despite her rather lackluster audition.

Then the first body was found. Darlene Gibson, one of the local farmer’s wives, was discovered just behind the old General Store. None of the Rose family knew Darlene, but it didn’t stop a few folks in town from starting rumors about the enigmatic clan. It all came to a head at a City Council meeting, and Roland was forced to use his power as mayor to defend the family.

The truth is, Roland isn’t really sure if someone from the Rose family is responsible for these strange deaths, but as mayor, he can’t allow the town to prosecute them with no good reason, the way his family was in Salem. Sure, the Roses knew some of the victims, but so did most people. Roland is trying his best to defend his town, but now with six deaths in less than four years, he’s starting to wonder if he’s made the right decision in siding with the Roses.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Roly,” Jocelyn says kindly. She’s seated across the booth from her husband, picking at her omelet. Roland sighs and meets her eyes.

“I can’t stop thinking about the motel guy from the other night,” Roland whispers. Johnny and Moira Rose are seated just two booths away. “He wasn’t even _from_ here. And how could it have happened with nobody in the motel noticing,” Roland shoots a quick glance over at the Roses, and he and Moira make brief eye contact. A shiver runs down his spine, and he quickly looks down at his plate.

“Best not to think about it,” Jocelyn replies softly.

A moment later, the door to the cafe opens, and a young man enters the restaurant. He’s dressed in navy blue suit pants and a light blue button-down, and his hair is military short. His eyes scan the room and land on Johnny and Moira Rose almost immediately. Roland watches as the man confidently approaches the Roses, and flashes what Roland assumes to be a badge.

“Who is that?” Twyla appears from nowhere, holding a pot of coffee and staring openly at the Rose’s table.

“Coffee would be great, thank you, Twyla,” Jocelyn states loud enough to pull the waitress’ attention from the new visitor. Shaking herself, Twyla fills Jocelyn’s mug, then shoots a look back at the Rose’s table before disappearing back into the kitchen. When Roland turns his attention back to the other table, he sees that the man is now seated next to Johnny, and seems to be engaged in an intense discussion with the couple. Roland strains to pick up pieces of the conversation but is unable to hear anything.

“I think that guy is an investigator,” Roland mutters quietly, “I wonder who called him?”

~@~

Johnny watches Patrick Brewer leave the cafe, and make his way across the street to the Apothecary.

“Well that was rather unpleasant,” Moira says, twirling her spoon nervously. She’s wearing her leather fingerless gloves today, but Johnny can still see the slight tremble in her hands, which his wife is trying to cover up by playing with her utensils.

“It’s going to be alright, Moira,” Johnny tries to convey confidence in his tone, but suspects that he isn’t doing a very good job. Moira can see right through his false bravado anyway.

“John, he thinks we are responsible for these unfortunate incidents,” Moira moans. Johnny reaches across the table to lay a steadying hand over hers. He squeezes her hand gently.

“He didn't say that, Moira. And he doesn’t have any real evidence! Just town gossip.”

“That might be all he needs! An interloper, coming into town to pass his judgment - he doesn’t know anything about us and all that we have been through!”

“Okay, that’s enough, Moira,” Johnny sighs. He drops $20 onto the table and slides out of the booth. “Let’s go back to the motel.”

“Fine,” Moira slides out of the booth and joins her husband. As they make their way out of the cafe, they both pause and gaze at the Apothecary across the street.

“Perhaps we should go check on David,” Moira whispers.

“I don’t want the investigator to think we are trying to sway him. David will be fine,” Johnny replies and leads Moira toward the motel.

~@~

_Feds are here; on the way 2 u_

David hums softly as he reads Stevie’s text. He’s not surprised, really. The deaths seem to be increasing in frequency, and David’s elixirs and amulets don’t seem to be helping.

It hasn’t really stopped people from buying them though; Rose Apothecary has been a success from day one, primarily because nearly everyone in Schitt’s Creek (and much of the surrounding area) is desperate to try anything to keep safe. Once it became clear that locked doors weren’t going to be much of a deterrent (Phyllis Whitehead’s windowless bedroom was bolted from the inside) David’s sales doubled.

He knows he should feel bad for profiting off of all of this, but he also knows that half of this town thinks his family - his mom in particular - is responsible for the weird deaths. Just because Moira dresses like a Victorian-era vampire doesn’t mean she _is_ one.

Thirty minutes after Stevie’s text, David wonders if she was messing with him, because nobody has shown up to ask about the dead motel guy. He’s had a few customers since then; mostly regulars, looking for new amulets, and one woman who thought the Body Milk was a drink (!). David is about to close up for the day when the bell over the door rings and an uptight looking man walks through the door.

“David Rose?” the man strides confidently into the store and toward the cash desk.

“That’s me,” David replies as steadily as he can. He puts down his notebook and rounds the desk.

“Patrick Brewer,” the man holds out his badge as he speaks, as though this man could be anything but a cop. “I’m looking into the death of Peter Benjamin. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“Uh sure but...who is Peter Brannaman?”

“Benjamin,” Patrick corrects gently, “and he is the man who died in the motel where you are currently staying a few days ago?”

“Right. Sorry, I didn’t, uh, know his name.”

“So you never met him, or spoke to him, in the days prior to his death?” Patrick has pulled out a small, spiral topped notebook, and is flipping to a clean page. David shakes his head.

“No, I never even saw him until after...well. After,” David swallows hard and looks down at the floor. It was the first time he’d ever seen one of the bodies, and it was an image that will stay with him for a long time.

“Were you the one who found him?” Patrick presses, his cheap black ballpoint pen hovering over the paper.

“No, uh. Stevie - she works at the motel - she found him, and uh, came to tell my dad-”

“Oh right, your dad mentioned something like that - why was she telling your dad, and not calling the police?”

“Well, my dad - he and Stevie run the motel together,” David didn’t know why he was so nervous; he hadn’t done anything wrong. But his body doesn’t listen to reason, and he is struggling to keep his breathing even.

Patrick is writing quickly, his eyes briefly glancing up to meet David’s as he asks his next question.

“So how did you end up seeing the body?”

“It was an accident. I um, was headed out to work, and the door was open. I...I don’t know why, actually, I know that Stevie and my dad were trying to keep everything quiet as long as they could-”

“Why would they want to do that?” Patrick asked sharply, and David has to close his eyes to concentrate on his breaths. A cold sweat breaks out on his face, and he clenches his jaw tightly.

“Just...so the guests...so the guests wouldn’t-”

“David. Breathe,” he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder and opens his eyes to see Patrick looking up at him, concerned but steady. “In and out, come on.”

Patrick maintains eye contact, and eventually, David’s breaths begin to match his. He can feel the invisible vice that was clenched around his chest loosen, and he nods slightly. It’s only when Patrick removes his hand that David realizes it had been there the entire time.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine. It happens. More often than you might think,” Patrick cracks a crooked smile, and David let’s out a relieved chuckle.

“Ah, that’s why you were so calm about it,” David feels half of his mouth curving up into a smile.

“It takes a lot to rile me up,” Patrick retorts with a wink. A second later, he seems to remember himself and grabs his notebook and pen from the desk as he clears his throat.

“Um, can you describe a little bit about what you saw? In the-uh, in the room with the body.”

~@~

Patrick collapses onto the cheap motel bed the moment he enters his room. The long drive and busy day are catching up to him fast; he didn’t even get a chance to speak with Alexis Rose or circle back with Stevie, and he has a feeling both are going to hear all about him from the three Roses that he did get to talk to this afternoon.

He flushes, thinking about his moment of unprofessionalism with David Rose. Something about the man threw him off, and Patrick is hesitant to think too deeply about that. The man could be a serial killer for all he knows!

Patrick doesn’t actually think he is, though. He had a panic attack just talking about seeing a dead body. But then, it could have been an act, put on to throw Patrick off his scent.

Either way, Patrick cannot - absolutely CANNOT let his guard down like that again. He sighs and stands up to pull the small muslin bag out of his pocket. It smells earthy and warm, with a hint of spice. David had placed it into Patrick’s palm as they’d left the Apothecary earlier, and Patrick recognized the pouch immediately as the same type that had been sitting on Stevie’s desk at the hotel office.

“Protection amulet?” Patrick had asked with a smirk. David shook his head.

“Courage.”


	3. Chapter Two: In the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up, and not in a fun way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little more intense, so fair warning there. Also, Patrick has a gun, though he doesn't actually use it here.

Alexis Rose is simultaneously exactly and nothing like Patrick expected.

She exudes the confidence of a young socialite, but, like her brother, carries a nervous energy, which she displays in a slightly more jittery way than David does. She moves through space like a crane, graceful, yet jumpy. As she talks, she pecks at the table with her hands and sways her neck to emphasize her point.

“So David started the store specifically to sell people these amulets and talismans?”

“No,” Alexis shakes her head and flips her hair out of her face. In her floral dress, brown suede ankle boots, and shiny gold accessories, she looks a bit out of place in the dingy little cafe. “David has always been good at this kind of stuff. He started the apothecary because he felt like people would like his products, but most people just - they just want his charms and stuff, not the beauty products and other stuff he makes.”

“Is that one of his amulets?” Patrick points to the necklace that sits prominently on Alexis’s neck. It’s a thin gold chain holding a small glass locket. Inside is what appears to be dried leaves. Alexis wraps her thin finger around the locket and sits back in her chair, as though she is trying to protect it from Patrick’s notice.

“It’s one of his older ones. He gave it to me back when I was a teen model and traveling a lot. There was always, you know, someone out to get something from our family, back then, and I was a pretty easy target. Or well - they thought I was an easy target,” Alexis smirks and Patrick lets out a chuckle. He looks down at the table and turns the teacup in his hands.

“Do you think there might still be someone after your family?” he asks cautiously. He looks up from the table to see Alexis cock her head thoughtfully, one hand twirling a lock of hair, while the other fidgets with the straw in her smoothie.

“I mean- I don’t know why there would be. We don’t have anything anymore.”

“I’m just trying to work out why this town. And why-”

“Why everything started happening after we got here,” Alexis finishes. She quirks an eyebrow and studies him for a moment. “Are we your like, prime suspects?”

“Well, you’re not _not_ suspects. At this point, I can’t rule anyone out.”

“But so far you’ve only talked to our family.” Patrick likes Alexis’s directness; a trait she seems to share with her mother.

“Gotta start somewhere. Don’t worry, after I finish here I am talking to other people in town.”

Alexis harrumphs at that and flips her hair. She stands gracefully, and Patrick stands as well.

“Well good luck I guess,” she sniffs and holds out a delicate hand. Patrick shakes it with a nod.

“Thank you for your time, Alexis,” he replies, and she spins and saunters out of the cafe.

~@~

The problem is, there is no pattern.

Other than their town of residence, none of the victims have anything in common. They all work at different places, are of varying ages, genders, religions, and sexual orientations. None of them were particularly close to the Rose family, though that could be said about nearly everyone in town, it seems.

The one outlier is the motel guest, Peter Benjamin. As far as Patrick can tell, he was just passing through the area, had no ties to Schitt’s Creek, and wasn’t really here long enough to get to know anyone, much less make enemies.

Patrick has each case file laid out on the second bed in his hotel room, with basic facts about each victim sitting on top of their corresponding file folder. On the wall across from the beds, he has taped up a map of the area and noted where each body was discovered. Next to the map, he has a neatly ordered series of post-it notes, that match the outstanding questions he has in a spreadsheet on his computer.

  * _Why Schitt’s Creek?_
  * _What do the victims have in common?_
  * _Why weren’t authorities brought in to investigate the first five murders?_
  * _What happened to the victim’s blood???_

He’s reviewed the autopsy report on Peter Benjamin and is awaiting the results from the first five victims. According to the autopsy he does have, the victim had no blood in his body at all, which frankly, doesn’t seem possible. Furthermore, there was no sign of blood at any of the crime scenes, which means that the victims were moved after they were killed, or the killer is some sort of supernatural entity.

After an exhaustive Google search of mythological bloodthirsty creatures turns up extremely disturbing results - he’s pretty sure he’s going to have nightmares about chimeras for the rest of his life - he decides that he is not going to get much further tonight. He stands and stretches, before walking toward the bathroom to begin his nighttime routine.

As he flips on the light to the bathroom, a shadow of...something disappears from the view of the bathroom window, startling him. He shuts the light off again and slowly moves toward the small, frosted glass, but the figure doesn’t reappear. He takes a deep breath and blows it out loudly before moving closer. Slowly, silently, he unlocks the window latch and slides the window open about halfway.

It’s pitch-black in the space beyond the motel, the moonlight muted by clouds. Patrick can make out a row of trees several yards from the building. As his eyes adjust, he scans the area. Maybe it was his imagination?

Just then, the clouds move, and the moonlight peeks through, and from the corner of his eye, Patrick sees movement, out near the treeline. He jumps into action, grabbing his government-issued pistol and flashlight. He shoves his room key into his pocket and swings open the room door. He scans the area just outside, his gun and flashlight held out in front of him.

The motel is dark and quiet, the only sound is the rustling of leaves in the light, cool breeze of the night. Patrick moves swiftly and silently down the front of the building, his gun pointed toward the ground and his flashlight straight ahead.

Suddenly, a room door swings open, and Patrick has to bite back a shout.

David Rose startles sharply and makes a sound that Patrick might find adorable in any other circumstance.

“What the fuck!” David whispers loudly.

“David, get back in your room and lock the door,” Patrick replies sharply. Instead of obeying, David arches a thick eyebrow at him.

“What are you doing?”

“There was something...out in the back. I’m going to check it out. Get back inside,” Patrick repeats and he moves past David’s door and toward the side of the motel. He sees David clench his jaw, but is relieved to hear a door close behind him. He swings around the building, sweeping the area with his light and gun, and moves slowly toward the back.

The silence seems more oppressive now - the moon is behind clouds again, and the breeze has died down. Taking another breath, Patrick sweeps the area, but the beam from his flashlight can only reach so far. He moves toward the treeline, his eyes scanning the area, his ears tuned to pick up any sound of movement.

He moves closer, his flashlight now illuminating the trees. He scans back and forth, and up and down the row of trees, but doesn’t see anything. After a long moment of silence, he cautiously begins to back toward the motel again, his eyes on the treeline. His heart is beating nearly out of his chest, and his palms are starting to sweat, but he doesn’t want to put down either is light or his gun long enough to wipe his hands dry on his pants.

The motel at his back, Patrick turns and walks slowly down the backside of the building, counting the windows until he comes upon what he thinks is his room. He studies the outside of the window, but doesn't see a sign of tampering - but when he points his flashlight to the ground he sees a set of footprints just under the window. The physical confirmation that someone was there sends chills down his spine. He scans the area again. Still nothing. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he moves swiftly around the motel, stopping in front of the door to his room. Out of the corner of his eye, a tall figure is moving. He swings his flashlight and gun up, and into the face of David, who is wide-eyed and holding a frying pan in his hand.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Just - you know, checking on you?” David shrugs. He holds up the pan slightly and says, “Thought you might need backup?”

“That’s - David, that’s very nice of you, but I’m a professional, and I specifically told you to stay inside.”

“Okay but I’m taller than you? And I have excellent night vision.”

“Really? Height jokes?” Patrick chuckles and shakes his head. “Listen, I appreciate it, I do, but-”

“You’re welcome,” David smirks. He sobers suddenly, his brow furrowing. “Did you find anything?”

“No,” Patrick shakes his head, then remembers the footprints. “I found some muddy footprints, but that could be anything.”

“My dad is pretty good about keeping the grounds up - where were they?”

“Uh, under my bathroom window.”

“What?” David exclaims, a bit louder than appropriate, “Okay, well you can’t stay in there alone. I can keep watch while you sleep.” He holds up his frying pan again.

“David, I’ll be fine. Go back to bed.”

Sighing, David shuffles backward toward his room. “Fine. Maybe you didn’t need a courage amulet - maybe you need one that fixes stupidity.”

“Wow, short and dumb; guess I’m batting a thousand here tonight,” Patrick laughs. He shoves his flashlight under his arm and fishes his room key out of his pocket.

“Mmmkay, I don’t know what that means,” David replies. Patrick raises an eyebrow to that.

“Goodnight, David.”

“Fine,” David walks to his own door and opens it slowly. “Goodnight, Patrick.”

Patrick watches David close his door before turning to his own. The conversation with David was a nice distraction from everything that happened tonight, but he needs to stay alert. He slowly unlocks his door, and, seeing that he left his lamp on, turns off his flashlight. He slowly sweeps the room, pistol raised slightly, but nothing seems amiss. His eyes immediately go to the bathroom window, but a quick scan shows that nothing seems to have been disturbed. He quickly closes and locks the bathroom window, and moves back into the main room.

Sighing, he places his flashlight on the nightstand and his gun within reach on the bed. He sits down, and removes his shoes, but doesn’t otherwise undress. Though there is no sign of activity outside of his room now, he can’t help but feel like he’s being watched. He swings his legs up onto the bed. As he turns, his eyes land on the map he’d pasted on the wall.

On the map is a marking that he did not place there. It is identical to the other markings, noting where each of the six murders has taken place. But Patrick knows he didn’t add a seventh, and he knows it wasn’t there earlier tonight. Heart in his throat, Patrick stands and crosses the room to get a closer look.

The marking is over an area near the center of town. Patrick notes the cross streets and enters it into Google Maps on his phone. He zooms in on the map to match the area with the one on the paper version. On the digital map, there is an outline of a building. Patrick zooms out a bit, and a label pops up:

_Town Hall._

~@~

“David! What are you doing?” Alexis hisses from her bed as David re-enters the room.

“Nothing, go back to sleep!” David whispers sharply. He places the frying pan on the console near the door gingerly as Alexis flips on the lamp and slides out of her bed.

“Ugh!”

“Why do you have a frying pan? Is that the one from mom and dad’s room? Were you _ cooking _?”

“I just...Patrick thought he saw something out back, so I wanted to...make sure he had backup.”

“Backup?? David, you’re afraid of _moths and butterflies_, how were you going to protect...oh. ohmygod,” Alexis flaps her hands in front of her and smiles delightedly, “oh my god, you have a crush on that little policeman!”

“I don’t think he would like you calling him little,” David mutters, but Alexis continues unabated.

“You like him! Oh my god, David, I love this journey for you!”

“Okay, first of all, there is no _ journey _happening, and second of all--”

“He’s such a little button, oh my god,” Alexis grins as she paws at David’s shoulder.

“Stop! He’s. No, stop,” David feels his face flush as he moves away from his sister. “Go back to bed!” He climbs into his own bed and turns onto his side, facing away from Alexis. He hears her slide back into her own bed, and a moment later, the lamp switches off.

“Imagine if he like, heroically saves you and you have like, a perfect little kiss, just like, laying in his arms.” 

“Jump off a bridge, please,” David replies through gritted teeth, unwilling to admit that he’d entertained similar thoughts. 

Patrick is definitely cute, but he is also probably straight. He probably has a sweet little wife at home. Still, David can't help but think about his strong, capable hands, and the kinds of things they could do to him.

His thoughts are broken up when Alexis starts making obnoxious kissing noises.


End file.
